


This is Me Trying (At Least I'm Trying)

by aletheahiraeth



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Peter Parker, F/M, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Irondad & Spiderson, M/M, May Parker (Spider-Man) Dies, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Has A Heart, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletheahiraeth/pseuds/aletheahiraeth
Summary: They placed him with Ben and May within a month. They told him it was taking so long because of all the checks they had to do. He was numb by that point, so it didn’t really matter. None of it did. Not at first. Later, he’d wonder how some of his foster parents got past the supposed checks they’d performed on Ben and May.orafter Ben and May's deaths, Peter is put in the foster system. As is the Parker way, things don't go the way they should. One radioactive spider bite and a secret identity later and Peter is on the run, seemingly straight into Tony Stark's mentorship. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings. This is not a fic for the light hearted, and several dark topics will be explored.

Well. Bullet holes hurt a hell of a lot more than Peter thought they did, he realized as he stared down at the dark liquid staining his fingertips. Blood didn’t usually make him dizzy, but he’d be damned if he said he wasn’t feeling a little woozy at the site of his own life staining the pads of his fingers.

“Fuck.” He stated, dumbfounded. He stumbled back, his ears buzzing, vision blurring a bit on the edges as his back pressed against the cold bricks behind him. “Karen, vitals?” his mouth felt dry, and his skin clammy against his suit. Everything was off.

“It appears you have a gunshot wound in the upper region of your left abdomen. There is quite a bit of blood loss, and it’s recommended that you attempt to stop the bleeding until emergency services can arrive. I have already alerted Mr. Stark and he’s on his way to you. I believe the bullet may be made of vibranium, so I do not recommend attempting removal without Dr. Banner or Dr. Cho’s assistance.” The AI stated, pleasantly.

“Fuck.” Peter breathed again, hurriedly pulling his mask down, over his mouth.

“Spider-Man?” The voice of his mentor met his sensitive ears and he winced, drawing in a rapid breath. Pain made his senses to dial to eleven, even when he wore the suit Mr. Stark had given him to help in situations like this. “What’s going on? Karen sent me an alert that you’d been shot? What happened to the ‘friendly neighbor hood Spider-Man,’ shouldn’t you be helping old ladies cross the street or something? Leaving the bullets for The Avengers…?” Tony’s voice trailed for a moment when he wasn’t interrupted by Peter, seemingly realizing this was more serious than he’d previously thought. “Are you okay?” his voice, softer than before.

“Mmm’okay Mis’er Stark.” Peter pressed his fingers tighter against the jagged wound in his side, but it just made his head even lighter. He slumped against the wall, even as it dawned on him that the man that had shot him was moving forward, face unreadable under his ski-mask, eyes hard and dark. His movements were precise and lethal, making Peter feel trapped, and on the edge of a panic attack. He desperately wished he could scramble back, but for one his back was already against a wall, and for another, it just hurt so damn bad. He felt like he couldn’t even breathe.

“Hey, hey, I’m almost there to you, hold on a bit longer, Spidey.” Tony’s voice reached him vaguely through the fog and din that was his current mental state. At that exact moment, he wished he had been more forthcoming with Tony. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be in this situation with the man walking towards him tilting and turning sideways, like he was melting. With a start, he realized it was himself that was tilting. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, his head smacking the pavement, painfully as he dropped. Silently, he sent a thought out to the universe, hoping it would hear him.

_Please, please let Mr. Stark find me._

Right before he lost consciousness, he saw the ominous, windowless van that had pulled up at the end of the alley. _Fuck_ , he thought, one last time before everything faded to black.


	2. chapter one

His life changed with the accident. A plane crash. That’s all it had been. One minute, his parents where there, the next they were gone. He remembered staring down at the metal table that his interlocked hands rested on, the seat cold beneath him. He couldn’t seem to make himself stop shivering. The man in the suit with the round glasses sat across from him, his mouth moving, but Peter couldn’t hear any words around the buzzing in his ears. He was only five.

They placed him with Ben and May within a month. They told him it was taking so long because of all the checks they had to do. He was numb by that point, so it didn’t really matter. None of it did. Not at first. Later, he’d wonder how some of his foster parents got past the supposed checks they’d performed on Ben and May.

When Ben first hugged him, he was as rigid as a board. He wasn’t sure how to hug him back; his parents hadn’t really been physically affectionate in all honesty, so he’d kept his arms loose at his sides. “ _It’s okay.”_ Ben had whispered, holding him close. “ _We’re here now.”_ He’d given him one last gentle squeeze, and then let go. May had smiled tightly, her eyes slightly watery.

 _“Hiya, Pete. You’ve gotten so big.”_ She’d sniffled, he’d remember, later. He never saw May cry again; not even at Ben’s funeral.

——————————————————

The first two months with Ben and May had been adjustment. They were often woken up by his screams at three AM, nightmares of his parent’s death making him thrash and tangle himself in his bedsheets. They were always patient with him, waking him up and soothing him back to sleep. Ben would read to him for hours until Peter would fall back asleep, his curly haired head dropping against his uncle’s shoulder, May warm against him on the other side, cocooning him in love.

They quickly built a routine. In the mornings, Ben would make breakfast, as it had become a running joke between the three of them that May wasn’t allowed to cook. “ _You catch one dishtowel on fire, and they act like you burned the whole building down.”_ She’d joke, bumping her hip gently against Peter. Ben would make jokes all morning before May walked him to school while Ben got ready to sleep the day away. She’d pass him his brown sack lunch that Ben had packed for him once they reached the school grounds before dropping a kiss on his curls and watching him walk in the front doors. Ben was always waiting for him with a smile when school let out. Peter remembered running into his warm embrace before they’d walk home. Sometimes they’d pick dinner up on their way home, surprising May with her favorite Thai place, but more often than not Ben would make a home-cooked meal. Ben would leave for work after they ate, looking like the protector Peter so desperately wanted during his nightmares. May would attempt to help him with his homework before tucking him into his bed with a kiss and a quick book read.

It took time, but he finally outgrew his nightmares. He remembered slowly losing the memory of how his dad’s voice sounded. “ _Oh, Pete. I sometimes forget too, buddy. It’s okay though, we don’t need to remember that to remember how much we loved him.”_ Ben always had the right words for Peter. He knew exactly what his nephew needed to hear, before Peter even knew he needed it.

They celebrated two of Peter’s birthdays as a family. And god, how Peter had loved those birthdays. Ben and May would both take the whole day off. They’d wake him up early and take him to see his parents’ graves. They would wait patiently while Peter talked to them, arms linked while they smiled encouragingly anytime he looked back at them. Peter could take as much time as he wanted. Then, they’d have a picnic in the nearby park, under the big willow tree. He had two pictures to commemorate those birthdays. He remembered the sweet older woman who took the pictures. _“Oh, I’m just visiting my Elmer. You are such a beautiful family. Reminds me of us a bit, when we were young.”_ She’d told them, upon their first meeting. The first photo she’d taken was of him, sitting on Ben’s lap, as May cut the cake, all three of them smiling at the camera. The second was May kissing the top of his head, Ben’s arm wrapped around his wife as he smiled, incredibly happy at the camera. They were the only pictures he still had of the three of them.

——————————————————

He was seven when Ben was shot.

They’d gone to get ice cream.

To this day, he hated the stuff.

He remembered May scooping him up, blood-soaked shirt and all, the police officers shaking their heads and whispering _“_ _wrong place, wrong time.”_ They’d apologized profusely, and May had just held him close to her, her jaw set, face stony. He remembered looking up at her, her hands absent-mindedly running themselves through his curls before gently wiping his tears away. “ _I guess it’s just you and me now, Pete.”_ She’d whispered.

At Ben’s funeral, she’d tucked Peter into her side. She accepted the flag they placed in her hands, her face hard, eyes dry. Peter had thought it was ironic that they’d given her a flag, as if a piece of cloth would replace the man she loved. May never commented on it though, instead she shook the hands of his co-workers, and Peter followed suit, wanting to help her by being strong himself. Once everything was over, she and Peter caught a taxi home, the flag held by May’s now trembling hands. They ate pudding one of the mourners had brought over, and then curled up on the couch together and fallen asleep. He didn’t remember much about that week, but he did remember it was the start to his and May’s family nights.

——————————————————

His happiness with May lasted only three years. In that time, she’d become everything he’d ever needed. She was loving and kind, always there to dry Peter’s tears, and always having an ear to listen when he was upset. She changed her schedule and moved them into a smaller apartment, decorating it with photos of her and Peter, a few interspersed with Ben. The loss of Ben hung heavy between them, and though she tried again and again to assure him that Ben dying wasn’t his fault, he’d still end up in her bed every other night, crying at the memory of Ben collapsing next to him, blood splattering on Peter’s shirt as the young boy dropped and did everything in his power to keep his uncle from dying.

But May didn’t dwell on the past. She forged ahead, into the future. She focused on putting food on the table, getting Peter to school, and showing up every day to her nursing job. Peter didn’t know how she juggled it all; she was practically a superhero. So, her death hit him like a ton of bricks.

The loss of May was the reason Peter learned to never expect anything good to last. He’d waited three hours past the time she was supposed to get home that night to call the hospital. He had gotten a busy signal, so in a panic, he did what May had always told him to do.

 _“Pete, if for some reason, you can’t get ahold of me, call 911. They do what Uncle Ben did. You know they’ll take care of anything you need. But, that won’t ever be a problem. You know I always answer my phone.”_ Followed by a swift kiss to the crown of his hair.

He was placed in a foster home that same night. They told him she hadn’t felt any pain. The aneurism she’d suffered meant she likely hadn’t even known what was happening. He’d hoped that was true, and not just a lie they told little boys to stop them from crying. Not that he’d cried. He’d expected something like this to happen soon. He’d had this little feeling at the back of his shoulders, like the split-second before glass shattered. He’d been walking on eggshells since Ben’s death, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because nothing good ever lasted with Peter in the picture. First his parents, then Ben, now May. Death seemed to be chasing him, and since it couldn’t seem to catch him, it took everyone he loved instead. He wished it would just take him.

He’d stared at his social worker across the table for him, the same man who had helped him the night his parents had died, after the police had come to collect him. He wondered if that was on purpose, or if there was such a lack of interest in the job that this man was one of the only ones left in New York after five years. He wondered if the social worker even remembered him, or if he had had to read a file before meeting with Peter.

And that’s how, at ten years old, Peter was placed with his first foster family.

They Finn’s were relatively nice, at first. They fed him, bought him clothes, made sure he brushed his hair before he left the house, and that he ate something before he walked to school. They all pretended like his foster mother didn’t hide in the bathroom at the end of the night, a bottle of vodka in one hand, her painkillers from her car accident in another. They all pretended like his step-father didn’t raise his voice, and sometimes hands, to Peter when he got in the way.

It had started out as a quick cuff to the back of his head the first time. Peter hadn’t managed to bring his foster father the remote quick enough. The slap to the nape of his neck had startled him a bit but didn’t leave any lasting damage. The next time he had forgotten to wash out his cup from breakfast. The slap made his cheek sting. “ _Your mother works to damn hard to keep this house clean just for you to leave your shit out every morning.”_ Peter hadn’t even meant to say anything. But the words had just slipped out.

_“She’s not my mother.”_

He went to school with a black eye for his “ _Ungrateful ass comment…After everything we’ve done for you!_ _We give you everything! The food on your damn plate! The roof over your stubborn head!”_ His ears were ringing by the time his foster father had finished his little rant. 

They had called the foster agency three weeks later, once Peter had had his arm broken for getting a B- on a test. It was his first and only B- after that. His foster father had told his social worker that Peter simply _didn’t fit well with the family dynamic._ He also told them that his arm had been broken in an accident at the park. He’d claimed he was worried about the other children, what with Peter’s “erratic” behavior. Peter couldn’t blame them. He was worried about the other children as well. His fear, however, was for what would happen to the kids once he was gone. Who would be the next punching bag? Samantha who was only 7? Or would they direct their anger at Jenny who had barely turned 5? He couldn’t stand the thought of either girl getting hurt. He’d been forced to push those thoughts from his mind and did the best he could by telling his caseworker, but Peter knew how severely lacking the social services system was. He could only pray that somehow those little girls would get the help they deserved.

Later, once he’d been bitten by the spider, he would swear to himself that he would never leave the fate of a child in the hands of incapable adults again.

——————————————————

His next home made him desperately miss May. All he could think about when he got hit was how May would have hugged him instead. They would’ve talked about why he was having problems with classmates, why they pushed him around at school. He knew she would have gone to the school and raised hell until someone got involved and protected him. She would have never laid a hand on him. His foster parents didn’t seem to have that same understanding. He wondered, not for the first time, how many of these people had gotten past the security checks that Ben and May had had to go through.

At his second foster home, things were even worse. The Burns were the kind of people who shouldn’t have been allowed within a 10 foot radius of children, let alone be paid to look after any. His bedroom was hardly that, in fact, one wouldn’t even venture to assume it was a bedroom, but more so a small closet that his twin sized bed had been shoved into. Only an old shower curtain covered what would have been his doorway, and he had to pull a light connected to a bare bulb to see anything once the curtain fell shut behind him. Small as it may have been, at least it was his, he reminded himself nightly.

Aside from the size, or lack thereof, of his room, the apartment wasn’t the worst. Sure, the smell of cigarettes seemed to seep into and stain every inch of the house. The walls, which he assumed had once been white, seemed to buckle under the yellow tint they had obtained from years of smokers living between them. But Peter was grateful he wasn’t out on the streets. He’d talked to several other foster kids, those who had lived out there, on their own, and it had sounded more like a nightmare than anything else. Later, he would reflect on living in the smoke-saturated apartment, the conversations he’d had with other foster kids ringing in his ears, and miss having at least a bed to come home to.

Despite trying to make the best of his situation, the overall atmosphere of the Burns’ apartment was beating him down. Day after day, he would rush home from school, papers flying out of his backpack as he raced to beat Mrs. Burns back to the cramped one bedroom. He was expected to clean and cook if either of the Burns were working late, which they both frequently did. Peter didn’t mind cooking that much, and his foster mother seemed satisfied with whatever he set in front of her on her little tv-stand-esque table, as she’d stare mindlessly at whatever program was playing when she got home. For the most part, he even enjoyed cooking. It was the rare time he got alone, and he cherished it.

Peter ended up watchin a lot of Judge Judy those few months. By the time he was rehomed again, he’d hate even the mention of it. Every time he turned around or did something even remotely kid-like, his foster mother would reference the show, malicious in telling him how he’d be punished for his actions. She seemed to think she was judge, jury and executioner when it came to punishment, and Mr. Burns was little to no help there either, sometimes even joining in in whatever punishment she decided to dole out that day. More than once, Peter went to school and asked to stand at his desk, too sore from a belt-whipping or whatever punishment she’d deemed fit the night before, to sit for 8 hours.

He wasn’t even sure the events that lead to him being removed from the Burns residence. He just remembered being dragged out of his bed at 2 am by Mr. Burns, pulled into the kitchen and half-asleep when the screaming began. The house was a wreck, with trash strewn across the floor, dishes in the sink, couch cushions pulled from their traditional spot, the tv sporting a giant shatter that hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep. Half-delirious with exhaustion, he would have thought they were just having some sort of collective manic episode if he hadn’t seen the needles, some unknown substance thick inside the syringe, lying on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Both Mr. and Mrs. Burns sported thick rubber-like rope, tied around their upper arms. Having no clue what was happening around him, he waited, standing awkwardly in the kitchen while Mr. Burns threw dishes around him, flinching when one flew an inch past his head. His flinch seemed to set something off in his foster father, who continued screaming nonsense around him but stepped so close that Peter could smell the thick stench of liquor on his breath, spittle flying out of the older man’s mouth and landing on Peter’s face. He stood as still as possible, praying the floor would open up and swallow him whole. While he’d seen both of his caretakers seemingly have a bad day, it had never gotten to this point.

He gaze was drawn to Mrs. Burns who looked like she was asleep on the couch, though he wasn’t sure how she managed to keep her eyes shut with all of the ruckus going on around them. Mr. Burns noticed him staring at his wife, and seemed to take it personally. Peter didn’t even scream when his collar bone was broken by a heavy-handed blow; He thought he must be numb to pain at that point. Instead, he just looked up at his foster father, his eyes burning with what felt like hatred, and he waited for him to finish getting his anger out on his bruised body. He noticed that often-times, meeting the eyes of his foster parents who hit him just made them angrier. He learned quickly after that to divert his eyes anytime they got close. It didn’t matter the context of the situation. He was bringing them their dinner? Drop your eyes. He was being asked about his day? Well, hell, that was a rarity for any of his foster homes, but he still immediately dropped his eyes when people began talking to him.

By the time his foster parents had sobered up enough to notice Peter had a broken collar bone, he had passed out from the pain. They must have taken him to an emergency room, because when he woke up next, he was in a hospital gown, hooked up to morphine, with only his caseworker in his room.

There had been discussions of putting him back at the Burns residence, but luckily no one seemed to think that was the best course of action. Instead, they opted to put him in a home with numerous other children for the time being, until they could find him a new set of foster parents, who were willing to put up with a kid with so many problems.

It was a miracle no one noticed his behavior at school, he would think later. Granted, he wasn’t a large enough contributor to Midtown’s schooling programs, which meant they frankly didn’t care about much else aside from his tuition check clearing but when his science teacher had pulled him aside to talk about why his grades where suddenly slipping, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. After having his collar bone practically shattered and having to move out practically the same night, he could barely find it in himself to care.

_“Peter, I know things have been…rough for you the past couple of years. I want to help, really, I do. Unfortunately, you’ll be disqualified from the Science Fair if you don’t get your grade back up to passing. Do you want to come in for tutoring?”_

_“No, I—I don’t think I’ll have the time. Um, I’ll talk to my foster parents about getting me a tutor.”_ He remembered her sympathetic frown, but she hadn’t tried to argue. He’d always known that everyone had their own problems, but her lack of pursuit on the matter only cemented this fact for him. No one could really worry about the scrawny kid from Queens who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week and bounced around from foster family to foster family every other month. Besides, it’s not like she was paid enough to do anything other than try to help him get his grades back up.

He thanked whatever cosmic force that had deemed him worthy of meeting Ned Leeds, though.

They had met at lunch, when Peter was brand new to the school, and sat alone at an empty table. It had been his first week there at Midtown Middle School, having been accepted into the program last minute, off of tuition money his parents had set aside for him, before their deaths. Peter didn’t know anyone. He’d already been shoved into his locked by some kid with dark hair and mean eyes, and his teachers had barely acknowledged his presence. So, he’d sat alone, sad little lunch on the table as he picked needlessly at the graying mashed potatoes. Ned was like a golden retriever, Peter had decided. The second he’d spotted Peter sitting all alone, he’d made a beeline over to him, round little body practically vibrating from excitement.

“Hiya! I’m Ned Leeds. Are you new here?” Peter had looked up at him through soft brown lashes and nodded, hesitant. “That’s dope, dude! What’s your name?”

“P-Peter.” He cleared his throat and nodded. “Peter.”

“That’s cool, I’ve never met a Peter. Lot’s of John’s, but not a lot of Peter’s.” Ned seems thoughtful, and Peter smiled shyly.

“I’ve never met a Ned,” He informed him, earnestly. Ned grinned at that.

“It’s actually Edward, but that makes me sound like Squidward, and he’s the _worst_ , he’s so mean! So, I go by Ned.” Peter laughed, nervously, not really following what Ned meant, but not wanting him to leave. “Do you wanna come sit with us?” That’s when Peter noticed Ned was holding his lunch tray, waiting expectantly. “We don’t bite. Well, Michelle might, but she’s just playing. Most of the time.” Ned giggled and Peter smiled hesitantly.

“Okay, um. Sure.”

And that’s how Peter met his best friend.

While the agency tried to figure out where to put Peter permanently, he and Ned only grew closer. For six blissful months, he stayed at the halfway house, and took the subway every day to Midtown Middle School, where he would meet Ned on the front steps. He was the only kid who noticed all the signs of abuse Peter dealt with. Of course, they were young, so he wasn’t really sure what was going on, and He and Peter had never explicitly discussed it, but Ned was a smart kid. He made sure to bring extra snacks every lunch, since Peter rarely had a lunch with him, and eventually Ned’s mother caught on as well and always packed a second sandwich for her little boy’s best friend. Ned didn’t handle him with kid gloves, and his friendship was the only thing keeping Peter sane at his current residence.

The joy of knowing Ned helped Peter to realize that not everyone would notice what he dealt with, but those that did, and those that cared, would do everything in their power to help him. It gave him hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hope you all enjoy this! let me know what you think (-:


	3. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes I write my stories a year in advance to posting them, forget I have them, completely perfect and edit the first several chapters and have to get myself back into the mindset of said story so that I can finish it. so the first few chapters of this will all probably be posted very quickly, but the last ones will be sporadic as I edit and rewrite.

He should have known hope wasn’t meant for people like him. Due to budget cuts and his subsequent removal from the Burns residence as well as his newly acquired frequent placement status, Peter was withdrawn from the higher education schools that he’d been placed in from a young age. His caseworker told him it didn’t have anything to do with him but couldn’t meet his eyes while he said it. Peter knew what that meant. He wasn’t worth the extra money. They would never come outright and say it but there was a reason Peter was in advanced schools in the first place. The trust funds his parents had left for him must have run out.

The thing that hurt most about this, was his loss of Ned. For the two years leading up to his removal of Midtown, Ned had been his one constant. If he needed a brief escape, Mrs. Leeds allowed him to come over and stay the night, so long as it had been approved by his foster parents first. Ned hadn’t been kidding after all when he’d said his mother was strict.

He missed their weekends of building the latest Lego sets. It was time-consuming and kept Peter’s shaky hands busy. He and Ned would talk the whole time, and it was one of the few times since May’s death that Peter was able to express himself and get excited without fear of repercussions for being too loud or rowdy.

For nineteen months after the removal from Midtown Middle School, Peter was given no information on his best friend. He hadn’t even gotten to tell him goodbye, because he was told he wasn’t going to be allowed back one day immediately after school. Since he wasn’t afforded the luxury of a cell phone, and New York was so big that with every reassignment, he lost hope that he’d ever see Ned again. Add that to the litany of schools that he was forced to move to with each new placement, and he was certain his friendship was never again going to resurface.

New York felt a lot grayer without Ned Leeds.

—————————————————— 

For a while, Peter went through life in a fog. His most recent foster family were sticking, so far. They were a nice couple, seemingly average. They did what they could to help Peter with his homework and pretended not to notice him scoot back every time they got a little too close to him. Logically, they had shown no signs that they were going to hurt him. But he hadn’t been expecting it when the Finn’s or the Burns’ started. He didn’t know what could trigger them, so he kept his head down, did any chores they asked him to, ate any dinner they put in front of him, and only spoke when spoken too. They didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t talk much. He knew they were busy people, Marcus had high-powered clients in the business world and Jane was a lawyer who dealt with small crime, so more often than not, Peter was left to his own devices after school. Peter, wanting to get ahead of the next shoe drop, made dinner for them, and waited until 9 pm for them to get home, his first night home alone.

When Jane opened the front door and saw the food set out, she’d blinked, surprised. Peter immediately shifted, standing awkwardly by the food he’d put on the table.

“Um, I made dinner. I just went off of some of the stuff you had in the fridge.” He wrang his hands nervously.

“Um, Peter?” He dropped his head immediately, waiting for the blow. Clearly, he’d done something wrong. Jane looked perplexed. He didn’t know what to do, so with shaking hands, he picked up her plate. She stopped him, a gentle hand stilling his erratic, nervous movements. It took everything in him to still his hands and stop the shaking. Any sign of weakness was cause for punishment, as had been exhibited by his two previous homes. “No, this looks amazing. I just…” Jane paused, a look of confusion clouding her face, “I guess I’m just confused as to why?”

“Oh,” Peter let out a soft breath. “Well, I figured you’d be hungry after a long day.” Jane’s eyebrows wrinkled together, and Peter bit his lip at the sight. “If you’re not hungry, I can wrap it up. I already did the dishes.” Jane let out a soft laugh.

“No, honey. I just mean…” She paused, taking in the food again. “You didn’t have to cook. That’s mine or Marcus’ job. You don’t need to take care of us. We’ll take care of you.” Now it was Peter’s turn to be confused. Was this a trick? Sure, Ben and May had taken care of him. They hadn’t expected him to cook, or really even clean up after himself, unless it was his bedroom. Sure, they did chores on the weekend, but they were family. And they were both dead now. Peter was well and truly alone, and from experience, he knew he couldn’t rely on anyone but himself. His other homes had practically expected him to be another adult, contributing to the house through a number of chores and the punishments had a varying severity if expectations weren’t met. He was pulled from his thoughts by Jane, who sat at the dining table, gesturing for Peter to follow suit. He did so, hesitantly. “We just want you to be a kid, Peter.” She took a bite of the chicken, made following some recipe he’d found online. Peter’s hands hovered over his silverware, and after Jane took a bite, he did the same. “This is actually really good, Peter.” Janes smiled at him, over the rim of her water glass and Peter smiled back, nervously. “But, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this.” Jane shook her head and paused, clearly trying to find the right words. “…I know things may have been…different for you at your other foster homes, but here, I just want you to focus on being a kid. Marcus and I will handle everything else, ok? I promise. Besides, we have a maid who comes twice a week. You don’t need to worry about cooking, let alone cleaning.” Hesitant, Peter nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay, excellent. Now, let’s get you to bed. I can’t believe you waited up for me, as is,” Janes shook her head again at the thought but offered Peter a warm smile, regardless. “C’mon, honey.” She’d tucked him in that night, gentle and kind. Peter didn’t know what to make of it, head cloudy with confusion. None of his other foster parents had treated him this way, and he wasn’t sure how to react accordingly.

In the weeks following his conversation with Jane, Peter was offered a newfound freedom that he hadn’t had since living with Ben and May. No longer having to worry about menial chores, he quickly got bored. He’d never been big on watching TV, what with not really having access to TVs over the last several months, so he’d had to find something else to keep him entertained. Reading was the only thing that had kept him interested, and he read books practically at the speed of light. Even his English teacher had commented on how fast he got through the material and ended up giving him free time to read in class, since he’d always finish the assigned school reading before any of his classmates. He’d read every book in Jane and Marcus’ home, a month after moving in. Seeing as boredom breeds necessity, he ended up finding a small little library a couple of blocks down from their nice two-bedroom apartment. Because Jane and Marcus both tended to work late, and he didn’t usually see them until 8 pm at the earliest throughout the week, he’d walk to the library every day after school.

The librarian, Lillian Ward, ( _“_ _that’s Lil or Lilly to you, Peter,”_ ) helped him find any book he needed. She was always there, her horn-rimmed glasses perched close to the end of her nose, dark curls piled in a messy bun, a light greying of her hair occurring at the temples. She would notice Peter selecting certain titles or genres and would recommend something based off of his most recent choice by having a book waiting on the counter for him when he visited next. He and Lil never spoke much, just in their secret language of smiles and the quiet turning of pages. He quickly came to love the library.

Until, he met Skip.

At first, it seemed like a good thing. Peter had always been a fairly lonely kid. Ned was one of the few who broke through his shell, and ever since he had seemingly lost him, Peter hadn’t really jumped at the opportunity to meet any new people.

But Skip, Skip had come to him.

“Whatcha got there, kid?” Peter jumped, scooting back in his chair. Lillian looked up from the spot at her desk, eyes zeroing in on them. She winged an eyebrow up at Peter and he shook his head. _I’m okay._ She looked doubtful but returned to whatever task she’d been completing before their interruption.

“Uh, A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking.” He murmured, darting a glance up at the tall boy in front of him. His mouth went dry when he did, memories of bullies who looked just like this kid stuffing him into lockers.

“Damn, Einstein. I could tell you were smart from across the room, but you can’t be older than what, thirteen? And you’re reading a book on of the greatest minds in physics ever wrote?” Peter felt his cheeks burn a bit. None of the kids at school had ever appreciated when he read books like this. It was new. It felt…nice. Not to mention, he doubted any of his bullies would even know who Stephen Hawking was outside of making fun of him when they learned about him in school.

He hesitantly met the gaze of the older boy, who offered him a dazzlingly white smile. Peter did a quick assessment, his eyes immediately drawn to the stark white hair the boy sported, as well as his sharp blue eyes. He had a wolf’s smile. Peter dropped his gaze again. “Twelve, actually.” He murmured, eyes skimming the page.

“Even better,” the older boy murmured, before speaking up a bit. “I’m Skip,” he introduced himself, holding his hand out in front of Peter, expectantly.

“Peter,” his voice was soft, his small hand engulfed in the bigger boy’s before he gently snatched it back.

“Well, Pete. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Peter nodded at Skip’s words, keeping his eyes down as he closed his book and stood up. He gently pushed the chair he’d been sitting in, lifting his chin a little to look at Skip uncertainly. The other boy stood, pushing his chair in as well and smiled brightly at Peter. Lillian had already checked the book out for him, so he knew he didn’t have to worry about heading over to her. Still, he hated leaving without saying goodbye.

“Bye, Lil.” He murmured, tapping the top of her desk twice, his new, white-haired teen friend two steps behind him.

“Bye, Peter. Be safe.” She whispered back, eyeing Skip dubiously.

He wished he could have heeded her advice.

——————————————————

How did you tell someone your whole world was crumbing all around you? Peter found, more often than not, you didn’t. Instead, you kept all of your problems buried deep down. He sometimes pretended he had a box and inside of that box, he placed all of his problems. His parent’s plane crash. Ben’s murder. May’s untimely death. The abuse dealt to him by multiple foster families. Sometimes he opened the box. Late at night, when no one was around. He’d lay in bed, staring into the darkness and try to unpack. When it got to be too much, he’d pretend he was opening the box and gently laying each of his problems into it.

Now, he guessed, it was time to add one more problem to the list. Stephen Wescott.

It had started out innocent enough. Skip had let him go that first day at the library but anytime Peter showed up there after that, the older boy seemed to be there, waiting for him. Peter felt flattered, at first. He’d never had a friend who looked like Skip, much less one who read the same books as him.

Their friendship formed slowly. Peter had always been hesitant to let people in, knowing how bad luck followed him like a dark cloud. Skip, however, seemed to realize this and was relentless. Finally, Peter became okay hanging out with older boy. To the point that he decided it would be okay to bring his new friend to his foster parents’ home.

Jane and Marcus had made pleasantries, and after Skip left, encouraged Peter to maintain the friendship.

“He seems like a very nice boy, Peter. We’re glad to see you’re making friends.” Jane had smiled at him, and Marcus had nodded, reaching a hand out to ruffle Peter’s curls. For the first time since May had died, Peter let someone touch him without flinching away. It felt nice to trust that someone was reaching out with a hand meant for comfort, not pain. Marcus seemed a little surprised that Peter had let him touch his hair, but didn’t comment on it.

After that, Skip’s visits became more frequent. Peter thought it was nice to have a new friend, since he hadn’t been able to reconnect with Ned, even after the Stern’s had provided him with a cellphone. So what if Skip said some weird things to him sometimes. And if his eyes lingered a little longer on Peter than he felt comfortable with, it was okay. He didn’t know how older boys acted with their friends, so he could only assume this was normal behavior.

Jane was the one who suggested Skip stay the weekend with Peter one weekend, when she had a law conference out of town and Marcus had to go meet with one of his infamous clients in another state.

“I think it’ll be good for you Peter! We’ll leave some money for pizza and you guys can have the place to yourselves. I normally wouldn’t be comfortable leaving you by yourself, but you and Skip have gotten so close, I know I can trust you. Besides, I’m sure Rhonda would appreciate the weekend off.”

Peter wasn’t sure why the cold fingers of dread made their way through his stomach, but he didn’t argue with her. He knew better than to talk back. Of course, Jane and Marcus had never raised a hand to him, but Peter knew circumstances where always subject to change. He wasn’t going to argue and tell them something about Skip staying over felt wrong.

And that’s how it began.

Skip came over that Friday night; Marcus had already taken a plane to California early that morning, but Jane had made sure to wait for Peter to get home from school before she left for her conference. She pressed a wad of cash into his palm, an emergency number on a slip of paper, _just in case_. Peter took it, his hands feeling like they had pins and needles. Jane had smiled at him, and wrote off his nervous behavior to it being just another nervous tick of his. She’d gone to drop a kiss in his hair, and Peter, too numb from nerves, didn’t dodge it.

The doorbell rang after Jane was long gone. Skip waited at the entrance, his lips wrapped around a cotton candy sucker, a wolfish smile still managing to creep its way across his face. “You gonna invite me in?” He’d asked, and Peter was reminded of the vampire novels he’d read, remembering how they were only granted entrance to a home once given permission. It never went well for the people who let them in.

“And, it’s just you and me for the next three days, huh, Einstein?” Peter shivered, involuntarily, and faltered back a step, something in him setting off warning bells. Skip seemed to take his body’s movement as an invitation to come in, his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulder. Peter took another step back and Skip shut the door behind him, setting the deadbolt in place with a solidifying _thunk._

“You know, I was thinking of something we could do that might be fun, Einstein. I know how you love to read. But, I was thinking we could look at some magazines. Do some of the things they’re doing. Whaddya say, kid?” Skip walked forward and for every step he took, Peter took a step back, until the back of his legs hit the large couch behind him.

“Um, I—I don’t know Skip. Maybe we should just order some pizza and put on a movie?” He suggested, refusing to meet Skip’s eyes.

“C’mon Petey-pie. This’ll be more fun. But here’s the thing. We’ve got to pretend like it’s a game. We can’t get too loud and worry the neighbors now, can we?” He reached into his backpack as he spoke, pulling out a shiny magazine and opening it to a marked page. He was dangerously close to Peter now, and he reached out a hand to lift Peter’s chin while turning the magazine to show the younger boy the photograph’s contained within.

“I—I don’t think I want to do that, Skip.”

But Skip didn’t listen.

——————————————————

Peter’s memories would always be crystal clear in regard to that night. The night his life was completely turned upside down, for the third time. Afterwards, he would always hate the smell of sharp mint aftershave. He’d divert his eyes every time he entered a store that had a large magazine rack, no matter the contents the glossy covers advertised. Deep voices still made him flinch. The smell of cotton candy suckers made him want to curl up in a ball and not get out from underneath a pile of covers for a week. The shimmer of white hair made his blood go cold, to this day. Polaroid cameras made him immediately duck. He would remember, sitting, shivering, on the couch while Skip opened the door to the pizza delivery man. It was apparently a boy he went to school with, and the things they said about Peter made his skin crawl. Thankfully, the other boy left, despites Skip’s invitations to come in, citing the fact that his boss would be mad if he was late again as his excuse.

Skip had plopped himself on the couch, opening the box of steaming pizza, and offered Peter a slice. Numbly, he shook his head, no. Skip acted like nothing had happened for the rest of the night, but the next day, Peter relieved the nightmare from the previous night. On Sunday, Skip continued to pretend like nothing had happened, reaching out to touch Peter’s shoulders and hair whenever he could, but never taking it further than that. He seemed to take pleasure in the fact that Peter involuntarily flinched every time he got close, which just made his little advances more frequent. Peter had practically jumped out of his skin every minute of the day.

When Jane and Marcus finally returned home, Skip shook Marcus’s hand and hugged Jane. He bragged about how great their weekend had been, shooting a dangerous look at Peter, who had nodded his head vigorously in agreement not wanting to know what disagreement would end up costing him.

“We had a great time.” His words were soft, but the lie burned in his mouth as he said it. 

Jane beamed at him, before walking Skip to the front door. He winked at Peter right before he left and mouthed _see you soon, Einstein._

After that, Skip’s visits only really occurred when Jane and Marcus left town. Before Skip had come along, they had always had the nice elderly woman in 3B stay with him. Rhonda liked to show Peter pictures of her cats and she always went to bed at the reasonable time of 9 PM.

Peter missed Rhonda.

——————————————————

One day, after a particularly rough weekend with Skip, Peter went back to library. It was ironic, once Skip had gotten this close to him, he never seemed to frequent the place they met.

Still, the place felt…dirty to Peter. He _had_ missed Lil though. Seeing her again made the heavy burden he carried feel just the slightest bit lighter. She seemed to immediately sense that something was amiss with him. She didn’t pry, instead waiting for him to come to her, but she always had a new book ready for him by his next visit.

One week, while reading Lil’s newest selection for him, he was interrupted once again.

“Peter? Oh my god, is that you?”

He froze, unsure he was hearing correctly. His gaze snapped up, and he was met with the most wonderful thing his teenage brain had seen in the past seven months.

“Ned?” He breathed.

“Yeah, dude! Oh my god, I can’t believe I found you! I’ve been looking for you since they pulled you out of school. How are you, man?” Ned’s ever-present golden-retriever mentality hadn’t begun to fade in the slightest and Peter had missed it, desperately. Ned started talking, yanking a chair out next to Peter, while Peter just stared, not quite sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Lil’s voice is what broke him out of his thoughts, as well as cut Ned’s word-vomit short.

“Young man. Young man! You are in a library. Please, lower your voice, or take your conversation outside.” She levelled a look at Peter, but he offered her the first genuine smile she had ever seen him give, so rather than enforcing her normal rules and making them leave, she walked away, eyes narrowed at Ned. 

Ned grinned sheepishly at Peter, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back.

——————————————————

Peter couldn’t believe his good fortune. He finally had Ned back in his life. But as all things were with him, it was a balancing act. He couldn’t tell Ned about Skip, and he feared what Skip would do if he found out about Ned.

At first, he was reluctant to introduce his original best friend to his foster parents, but Ned was insistent upon it. He demanded to know Peter was doing okay, and finally Peter relented. He brought the other boy to meet Jane and Marcus.

Ned was polite, as he’d been raised, to Jane and Marcus, but he was also quick to ask questions about Peter’s new foster parents. Peter’s cheeks burned a bit, his embarrassment apparent to Marcus, who just gently patted his shoulder and weathered the 13-year old’s questions, patiently.

“He seems to care a lot about you, Pete.” Jane noted after Ned had left.

“We used to go to school together. He’s my best friend. I’ve missed him.” Peter murmured.

Jane had just nodded.

“Well, he’s welcome to hang out anytime.” She assured him. Peter took it as a victory. As a kid who never knew any constants, he wasn’t sure how long it would be before Ned was out of his life once more. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

——————————————————

One day, a few months after they had met back up, the boys were hanging out in Ned’s room, messing around with the newest Lego set he’d received. The sleeves of Peter’s gray sweatshirt had slipped down his arms when he’d excitedly waved them in the air, too distracted to realize his misstep. Up until that point, he’d been so careful.

He made sure to split his time with Ned and Skip so that neither of them knew about the other. Ned thought he went with Jane on the weekends whenever she had a conference, and Skip, well, Skip had no reason to suspect Peter had any new friends. Not that he’d care anyways. Not unless those new friends impeded on his alone time with Peter.

“Peter? What is that?” Ned pointed to the ring of bruises encircling both of Peter’s wrists. Immediately, he dropped his arms, yanking the sleeves down at the same time.

“Uh, nothing. Just, uh, remember when I fell off the rope climb in gym? It’s from that.” He lied quickly, color rising in his cheeks.

“Peter…you told me about the rope climb at your school last week. And you don’t have to wrap the rope around your wrists to climb, do you?”

“I’m anemic Ned! Would you just lay off?” Peter felt guilty as soon as the words left his mouth. Ned looked like a puppy who had been kicked, and Peter felt horrible for being the one to put that look on his face. But he couldn’t let his secret get out. It would ruin everything. He hadn’t seen Ned in months and he wasn’t about to let the man that haunted his nightmares ruin that too.

“Peter, if something is going on, you should tell me…” Ned looked dubious now, and he’d crossed his arms and was staring Peter down.

“It’s fine Ned, just leave it alone.” Ned frowned at that. It took every ounce of Peter’s willpower to pretend like everything was ok, and he forced his hands to continue building the lego set they were currently working on, refusing to meet Ned’s gaze.

“No, Peter. I won’t just ‘leave it alone.’ Last time I did that, you disappeared on me for nineteen months.” Ned was worried, Peter realized. He could always tell when Peter wasn’t acting like himself. Peter took a trembling breath. He knew what Skip was doing was wrong. He’d watched the sex-ed videos his school made them watch. But he also knew what would happen if he told anyone. Skip had made good on his threats before, so there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that he would again. And Skip had made him swear he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Something about Ned’s words broke a dam in him, though. “Have you ever…” tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped them roughly away with the sleeves of his sweater, his lower lip trembling. “Has someone you’ve trusted ever betrayed your trust?” Ned looked at him quizzically, his own hands fluttering in the air as Peter broke down before him.

“Peter…are the Stern’s hurting you?” Ned was old enough now to know what to look for from Peter’s last homes. The halfway homes and foster families Peter had found himself at hadn’t exactly been kind to him, and Ned knew it.

“No!” Peter quickly objected, his face burning. “No, Jane and Marcus have been good. Um…I have this friend. Uh, his name’s Skip.” Ned nodded, his round face earnest and concerned while he waited for Peter to finish. “Um. Well. Sometimes Skip…does things. I don’t want to do them,” He rushed, trying to explain, “But Skip doesn’t listen when I say no.” Two things happened in that moment. The back of Peter’s neck tingled and he turned, noticing Ned’s mother in the doorway, a look of horror on her face, as the tray she was holding to bring them lunch crashed to the floor. Peter turned quickly back to Ned, whose brows were furrowed slightly.

“Wait, Peter. Does Skip…touch you?” Peter’s face burned and he ducked his head, his lack of an answer the only answer Mrs. Leeds needed.

——————————————————

Peter had talked for three hours with the cops, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, sandwiched between Jane and Marcus. Jane’s hands shook on the table, so she had settled them, tightly intercrossed, in her lap. Her knuckles where white. Marcus looked like he wanted to kill someone. Peter was surprised they hadn’t started yelling at him. After all, it was his fault. He knew he should have told them sooner. Now, they could barely even look at him.

“…hear me? Hey, Peter. Did you hear me?” the detective repeated, her eyes sympathetic as she looked down at him, his body in the shape of a hunched question mark, his palms sweating. “The doctors want to take a look at you know, if that’s alright. They aren’t going to hurt you.” Peter recoiled at those words. Skip always promised he wasn’t going to hurt him. But he did.

Jane set her hands on the table, her expression stony. “Listen, detective. I think Peter has dealt with enough tonight. He’s given you a statement and talked to several of you for the past three hours. We’d like to take him home and let him rest.” The detective narrowed her eyes at Jane, but nodded tersely.

“I understand your concern, Mrs. Stern, but if there is any…” her eyes flicked towards Peter, who refused to look up, “evidence we can possibly discern from this horrible situation, it’s best we collect it now.” Jane took a deep breath, her voice a little shaky, and dropping to a whisper as she spoke.

“He already told you the last time it happened was a week ago. You know as well as I do any evidence has been washed off at this point.” The two women had a brief stare-off, which Jane seemingly won. Peter’s gaze flicked to the left, hearing Jane’s chair scrape against the tile. He followed suit, standing, but keeping his gaze down. Marcus stood last, stopping briefly to shake the detective’s hand before following his wife and foster son out of the room.

Jane and Marcus wedged him between them as they walked out of the station, Peter keeping his eyes low. On the street, they caught a cab and they rode home in radio silence.

——————————————————

That night, Jane came in his room. She folded herself criss-cross-apple-sauce on his floor, looking at him, her eyes sad, her body language that of an incredibly tired woman.

“Peter. Um, I just wanted you to know, that Marcus and I are here for you. We’re sorry, so sorry, that we didn’t notice what was going on.” She drew in a shaky breath, and Peter’s shoulders felt tight. He didn’t turn over, but stayed put, facing the navy color of his walls, an incredibly still, impossibly small, lump under a pile of soft blankets. “If you need to talk, we’re always ready to listen.” She stood, pressing a hand gently on Peter’s shoulder, only for him to flinch. She immediately withdrew. Peter heard her shuffling, but didn’t move as she quietly left the room, leaving him to focus on the hot tracks of his tears streaming down the left side of his face, over his nose and down to the pillowcase that his head rested on.

He had really started to like the place. But he couldn’t risk Ned, and now Jane or Marcus, getting hurt by Skip. He knew, logically, that Skip wouldn’t be able to hurt all three of them. Peter was also aware that life didn’t run on logistics.

He began his plan to run.


	4. chapter three

One of his last hang-outs with Ned was what gave him his powers. He supposed he had to thank Ned for that. Without the trip to Oscorp, he would’ve never become Spider-Man. He would’ve never escaped Skip. He would’ve never met Mr. Stark.

He really hadn’t meant to wander off. The field trip had been a one-off sort of thing, Oscorp Bio-Labs always invited the best and brightest schools to come tour their grounds, and since Ned was one of the students at Midtown, that was their in. Peter still wasn’t entirely sure of the details involved that got him invited on the trip, but he had learned to not look a gift-horse in the mouth. So when Ned invited him, he had said yes, immediately. Better to treasure what little time he had left with his best friend than to dwell on the past.

Sometimes, his head got a little jumbled when he started thinking too much, and he needed a break from all the noise. The tour guide had been rambling on about the upcoming summer internships they’d had available, and Peter was getting a headache from the chatter of Ned’s classmates. He’d made eye contact with Ned’s quiet friend, the girl Ned had tried to introduce him too on their first day, and she’d just watched him with dark eyes as he slipped away from the group. He had only seen her in passing when they’d gone to school together and even though she was quiet, and always doodling in her little leather journal, she intrigued him. Despite sharing a lunch table for nearly two years, they had never even so much as had a conversation. All she did was watch and listen. So, he knew he could trust her to not raise the alarm as he slipped away, instead inclining her head as if to say agree that they were sharing a secret. Her curly dark hair had briefly fallen over one of her eyes, and Peter wanted, for a split-second to push it away. Instead, he pushed the thought out of his brain and slipped through the double glass doors to try and clear his head.

It’s how he’d ended up in the room with all the spiders. Spiders he hadn’t known, at the time, were genetically enhanced. The bite had hurt, but he really hadn’t thought anything of it. Once his head was clearer, he’d found his way back to the tour group, telling himself the only reason he felt so weird was because of the fact he forgot to eat breakfast that morning. Michelle had been the one to stumble across him again.

“Dude, are you alright? You’re pale. Paler than normal, I mean. Which I’ve got to say, isn’t a great look for you.” They’d never had a conversation before, and Peter really wished their first one was under different circumstances. By the time he had stumbled out of the lab room and towards the bathrooms, where Michelle had crossed paths with him, he was already feeling light-headed. He leaned against the wall and Michelle narrowed her eyes, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Peter pushed past her and her outstretched hand, and ran into the men’s bathroom, the door thudding heavily behind him.

The tour guide ended up calling Jane, asking her to come pick Peter up, as he seemed to have caught some sort of bug. An ironic choice of words, he’d think later.

By the time he got home, he was sick as a dog. Jane had practically carried him inside, letting him lean heavily against her, something he had never done before. She had gently tucked him into bed, bringing him anti-nausea medication and a bin in case he needed to throw up and making him promise to tell her if he felt worse so she could drive him to the hospital if necessary. His vision was blurry, blurrier than normal, even with his glasses. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck and every time he stood to run to the bathroom, the world swayed around him, colors he didn’t even know existed swimming in front of his vision. When he’d finally fallen into a dark, nightmare-filled sleep, the fever left a sheen of cold sweat on his skin as he shivered under a pile of blankets.

When he woke up the next morning and discovered what he could do, he was a little apprehensive. He ached; muscles he wasn’t even aware he’d had suddenly having a definition he had never been privy to before. His hands stuck to the most inconvenient of things, like his backpack, the sweater he’d tried to slip over his head, his deodorant stick, it didn’t matter what, if he touched it, it seemed to stick to his hand like it had been glued on. He knew something fundamental about him had changed. He was struck with a memory of a conversation he and Ben had had, moments before his beloved uncle took a bullet. He never told the cops or May about it. But it lingered in his mind, even six years later. The last thing his uncle had said to him before practically running to his own death, trying to get the purse of the woman who had just been robbed and who’s robber had just so happened to run past them while they were out to get ice cream.

“Pete. Stay here buddy. I’m gonna go take care of this real quick.” Peter still remembered the sticky, hot fear that flooded his veins with his Uncle’s words. Something wasn’t right, and even at the age of seven, Peter had known that.

“Uncle Ben, no! He’s a bad guy, and you don’t have your uniform!” Ben had crouched, quickly, taking Peter’s shoulders in his warm hands and met his round brown gaze with his own.

“Peter, listen to me. We have a responsibility to use our gifts for the greater good. I am, first and foremost, your Uncle Ben. But I am also a police officer. And it’s my duty to help protect the fine citizens of this city, against any threat, small or large. Now. Stay. Here.” He ordered, before taking off down the alley after the man.

The words rang in Peter’s heads when he stuck to the wall for the first time. _We have a responsibility to use our gifts for the greater good._

He had borrowed Jane’s sewing machine that night, making a makeshift costume after watching some YouTube sewing channel videos for six hours straight. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He’d grown up in a world of superhero’s, with men like Iron Man and Captain America running around in colorful, fancy suits. While he might look ridiculous, he also knew he didn’t want anyone knowing who he was, or what he was capable of. So he wrapped himself in red and blue garments, red for aunt May’s favorite color, blue for Uncle Ben’s eyes, and told himself they were watching over him.

The web shooters design came to him later that week in lab, and he concocted a formula in his spare time after school that seemed to work. He’d always known he was smart, but after being taken out of the only school that challenged him, he had lost his interest in the academics. He kept his grades up, of course, but his heart hadn’t really been in it since he’d left Midtown.

But now? It was all Peter could think about. Every chance he got, he practiced making web-fluid at school. His teachers barely noticed, and by the time he perfected the formula, they had already written off the missing ingredients as an inventory error.

Until the news came, two months later.

No one would touch his case with Skip. They still had the restraining order, but that was by pure force of Jane’s will. He overheard Jane crying about it to Marcus that night.

“They said there’s not enough evidence.” She’d whispered, trying to make it to where Peter wouldn’t hear. Unfortunately, his spider-bite that had given him his gifts saw to it that he did. He pushed his head further into his pillow and stared up at the ceiling, listening.

“At least we still have the restraining order in place.” Marcus tried to comfort her, but Jane wasn’t having it.

“Marcus, are you even listening to me? There’s a child predator on the loose. What he did to Peter…he’ll do it again. I know how monsters like this operate.” Fear crept down Peter’s spine. He should’ve known. In the back of his mind, he always knew. Bad guys won, when they shouldn’t. Uncles got shot on warm summer nights, trying to do the right thing. People who pretended to be your friend got away with the terrible things they did in the dark.

He squeezed his eyes shut, before flinging his bed sheets off of himself and getting out of the warm bed. Making his way to his closet, he grabbed his bag, filled with vials of his homemade webs, his suit, several changes of clothes and several cans of food he’d been squirrelling away whenever the Sterns weren’t home or looking. Jane and Marcus had stopped talking, so he glanced tentatively over his shoulder. Grabbing a notepad off of his desk, he wrote a quick note, hoping they’d understand.

_I’m sorry._

Then, he gently pushed his window up before scaling the wall of their apartment and disappearing into the dark night.

——————————————————

Peter was gone for three days and two nights before they caught him and brought him back.

They caught him two more times before they gave up. He hated seeing Jane cry every time they brought him back, but he couldn’t live with himself knowing Skip could follow through on his threats at any time.

A week after his fourth time leaving, he knew they’d given up. Knowing the U.S. government, he was too much of a financial burden to keep sending resources after. He was sure they probably had just written him off as a runaway. He tried to check in occasionally on Jane and Marcus, as he knew they worried about him. He never let them know he was there, but it was nice to see them doing okay even after he’d left.

After two months, the Stern’s seemed to have moved on. He was glad they weren’t blaming themselves anymore, or so it seemed. They had even decided to foster again. Peter hoped since he was gone, Skip would leave them alone. The little girl they had taken in seemed really happy and Peter didn’t want that to be ruined by something that had happened to him. One late night, on his what he had planned to be his last visit, the girl they were fostering spotted him. She stared, long and hard, but didn’t even so much as scream. Peter tilted his head, and she came over to the window, gently pushing it open.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” She informed him, holding her sippy cup loosely as they stared at each other.

“Well, technically I’m not a stranger.” She tilted her head at him, and Peter smiled under the mask. “I go by Spider-Man.”

“I’m Alice,” She told him, holding out a small, sticky hand for a shake. Peter gently took it between his own gloves and shook it, once.

“Nice to meet you, Alice. How are Jane and Marcus?” He hadn’t meant to make Jane cry by leaving, but he knew in the long run, it was his best course of action. He wasn’t going to let anyone he cared about get hurt, ever again. Alice seemed to be considering his question, biting on the sippy cup she currently grasped.

“They’re okay. Jane cries a lot. I don’t know why though.” Peter nodded, feeling guilty.

“Sometimes adults do that. It’s okay though, it’s not your fault.” Alice shrugged at his words.

“Are you going to come back?” Peter considers her question carefully. As much as he would love to continue visiting and keep an eye out for Jane, Marcus and Alice, he’s not sure it’s the smartest course of action. He didn’t think anyone had been watching the house, no one knew he had been bitten by a radioactive spider that gave him superpowers. They just assumed he had run off. What was the harm in checking in every now and then?

“Do you want me too?” It’s Alice’s turn to consider his question, and she does, with all the wisdom of a five-year-old.

“Yes.” She decided, finally. Peter nods.

“Okay. But I only have one condition. Unless you’re in severe, eminent danger, you can’t tell Jane or Marcus about me, ok?” Alice narrows her green eyes at this but ends up nodding in agreement regardless.

“Not even if they ask?”

“Not even then. It might get me in trouble.” He winces, knowing how bad that sounds. But Alice had already seen him, and there was no going back now. Besides, he wasn’t Skip. He was asking Alice to keep him a secret to protect the Sterns. If someone caught wind of where Spider-Man spent his free time, he worried it would end with someone getting hurt. Secrets were sometimes necessary.

“Okay.” Alice smiled and Peter ruffled her soft blonde hair gently.

“Okay little miss, I’ve gotta get going. Plus, I think it’s your bedtime.” Alice giggled and made her way to her bed, crawling under the baby blue duvet and adjusting to get comfortable. When Peter was sure she was settled, he pulled the window shut gently, but not before Alice spoke once more.

“Night Spidey,” Her words were drowsy, green eyes slipping shut.

“Goodnight, Alice.” And then he was gone, stealing away into the night, swinging from building to building to get to the park he’d been sleeping in the past few nights.

He’d managed to find himself a routine, sleeping about three or four hours a day before going out and finding crime to take his problems out on. At 9’o clock on Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s, he bussed tables at a little diner near one of his empty warehouses he rotated camping out in. The owner of the diner was a beautiful, intimidating black woman named Vida. She had seen him standing on a corner nearby, threadbare jacket slightly too small on his ever-broadening shoulders and had practically pulled him into the building before force feeding him what would have been an unhealthy amount of food, if it weren’t for his unusually high metabolism and the fact that he was practically starving since running out of his canned food two days prior.

She sat across from him and watched him eat, dark eyes revealing absolutely nothing. Vida’s gaze had been sharp and assessing, but Peter didn’t feel judged. He knew he should be on guard, but he couldn’t force himself to be because he was just so _hungry._ When he finally had finished the food that the waiter had set in front of him, Vida nodded once, folding her hands together.

“Look, kid. You’re going to have to pay for all that.” Panic coursed through Peter’s veins, but Vida just shook her head. “Hey, calm down. I understand you don’t have a lot of money. Trust me, I get where you’re coming from. Used to be a in your position myself, once upon a time.” Surprise flashed through him, and must have shown on his face, because a gentle smile graced her lips. “Sometimes we make it out, kid.” He bit his lip and Vida’s mouth twisted a bit. “What’s your name?”

“Pet-Pietro.” His voice was a whisper. He wasn’t sure why exactly he lied, but he did know if someone was looking for him, he didn’t want Vida to get into trouble for helping him.

“Okay, Pete. Here’s what we’re going to do. Since you owe me some food,” Her eyes dropped briefly to the empty plates between them and Peter’s ears burned. Vida ignored this and continued to speak. “On Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s you’re going to come into my diner, and you’re going to help bus tables and then do some dishes.”

“And that’ll pay you back for the food?” Peter couldn’t seem to make his voice any louder than the whisper that escaped him. Guilt wrapped its icy talons around his throat and squeezed, almost bringing tears to his eyes.

“Oh, baby. It’ll pay me back for this food and all the food you’re going to eat every time you come in. And who knows, sometimes some money might be lying around on the tables for you. Of course, I won’t notice if it disappears.” Peter met her gaze, eyes wide. Vida smiled again, gently pursing her lips. “You got somewhere safe to stay tonight, Peitro?” He nodded, once. She returned the nod, eyes thoughtful. “Alright then. I’ll see you Monday night, 9 pm, sharp. Go get some sleep, kid.” Then she stood up, a swirl of colorful skirts and disappeared in the back.

Relief swam, sharp and hot through Peter at the thought of a regular meal, three days a week. If he had to go without food the other four, at least he had something to look forward to the next day.

On day’s he didn’t work at Vida’s, Peter became Spider-Man. He would spend all day driving his hunger away by trying to keep the bad guys off the streets of New York. He knew now that some bad guys didn’t look like bad guys. But he also had his spidey-sense now, and if something seemed amiss, it most definitely was. The people he rescued almost always wanted to repay him. So even on the days he didn’t work at Vida’s, someone was almost always offering to buy him his dinner, so long as he’d saved their life. Once upon a time, he may have been too proud to accept food from people he didn’t know, but he knew now that he needed to eat, and eat a lot. His sudden increase in metabolism that had granted him abs and other muscles he hadn’t even known existed prior to his transformation but had also made him practically salivate at the mouth every time he walked the streets of New York. So no, he was no longer above accepting handouts from strangers.

He slept whenever his insomnia allowed him to, his dreams filled with horrors of being too late to some of the things he witnessed. Skip haunted his nightmares most nights too, taunting him. Sometimes, the horrors of the day seemed better than the horrors that haunted his head when he finally slept.

His only reprieve was Vida’s.

She was a force to be reckoned with. No one looked twice at Peter while he worked, and cops didn’t visit Vida’s, as she’d made her opinion on police quite clear. Any time a new social cause seemed to sprout up, Vida displayed a poster on her store front windows to support it. She was in so many different groups, it didn’t even surprise Peter when the short Latina who introduced herself as Sofia also introduced herself as Vida’s wife. Vida had just rolled her eyes and kissed her, before shooing Peter back to work.

“Vid, baby, isn’t he a little young?” He’d heard Sofia whispering when she thought he was out of ear shot.

“I think he’s fourteen. He’s not very forthcoming with what he’s been through, Sof. But you know I used to be in a tough spot myself. You know how I feel about the underdogs.”

And that was that. Vida never asked Peter about his home life outside of making sure he had enough to eat. Then, one day, she frowned at Peter when he came in, and a sort of panic ran through him. “Pete? When you have a minute, meet me in my office please.” Dread settled in. Vida never called people to her office unless something was wrong. He panicked about it for the rest of his shift. When he finally had a moment, he slipped quietly into her office, keeping his head down as his hands shook. This was it; this was going to be the moment she told him she could no longer afford to keep him on staff. He knew that the other shoe was bound to drop soon.

Vida looked up, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Peitro, you stink.” Peter’s shoulders hunched. He’d been _trying_ so hard. He knew he wasn’t the best bus boy. Some of the other boys cleared their tables faster than him. But he was always early to work and whatever section Vida assigned him was spotless when he was done. “No, Pete. I know you think you know what I’m talking about. It’s not that. You’re great here. You never let me down. You’re probably my most consistent worker. You never call in sick, you take care of everything I ask you too. No, Pete. I’m not talking about you work ethic. I mean, you stink as in you smell, honey.” Shame burned through Peter at her words. He tried to shower at the local gym whenever one of them mistakenly gave him a spare test-pass. After three visits they’d made sure to not make that mistake again. Other than that, he washed his clothes whenever he’d managed to save enough quarters from tips. But clearly, it wasn’t enough. Vida took off her glasses and watched him, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I thought you said you had somewhere to stay?”

“I do!” Peter protested. One of the things he liked about his job at Vida’s was her lack of prying. She knew Peter didn’t want to share, so they had a don’t-ask-don’t-tell sort of policy. He didn’t like that that dynamic was changing, and Vida seemed to understand. She wiped any semblance of sympathy off her face and nodded once.

“Right. Well, wherever it is that you’re squirrelling away all that cash, it clearly doesn’t have a shower. I know you’re not one for charity. But I figured if you’re going to keep working here, you’re going to have to just accept this gift. I put your name as Pete. I know I never wanted people to know my name when I was in your situation. My numbers on there, too. In case they don’t believe you. They can call me if they have a problem with it.” Tears welled in Peter’s eyes, but he blinked them quickly away when Vida pulled out a card to a nearby gym and spa. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you, Vida.” She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Hush, now. Go shower. I’ll see you Friday.” That was that. Vida wasn’t one for the touchy-feely and Peter couldn’t appreciate it any more than he did now. He nodded, taking the little black card she’d left on the table and slipped out of her office.

Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up for Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the infamous Tony Stark will be joining us next chapter. Enjoy!


End file.
